Today I sit in front of my computer and will myself to write something. It is National Writing Day in the U.S. I don't know that people know or realize this but I thought it would be cool to write today. So in the spirit of Halloween as well, I thought I would pen something truly terrifying and that is the inner workings of my mind. Well...a portion of my mind anyway. It's not always like this. I wanted to write something truthful and scary, a bit of my life that scares me to death and you'll see why.

The scariest thing I've encountered in my life are the hallucinations that happen in my vulnerable moments. Vulnerable moments being when the effects of Schizophrenia seem stronger than the medication I am taking. It happens. The medicine decreases the likelihood of them happening but there are triggers that are activated every once in a while that kick them off. I cannot control the severity of the hallucinations or the frequency in which they occur, all I can do is what I've been taught to do to get through them. Sometimes that's enough and sometimes it takes something more – like physically removing myself, getting busy on a project (if I can) or putting myself to sleep. When they are too bad, when I can't handle them and when I get caught up in them...meaning, begin to believe what's happening in my mind – then it's off to the hospital. This is all a part of my plan and it takes my family's commitment and alertness to help me. And they are good at paying attention too.

I'll admit, I get tired of them asking me how I'm doing but they need to for their own peace of mind and for my benefit as well. Either my reluctance to answer the question or providing an answer that sends red flags puts them on alert. They don't hover around me like satellites, thank goodness. But they pay attention and try to get me to talk about what's going on. Sometimes I can and want to talk about it and it's no problem but there are times I'd rather not. Not to be difficult or anything but because I don't want to cause further alarm or seem crazy with the things that may come out of my mouth, so I opt for silence. Being quiet is easy for me. I am most of the day when I am at home and especially when I'm alone. I feel there's no need to talk to myself and if I am talking to myself, I am either problem solving or answering the voices in my head – which isn't a good thing. That's a fair assumption that I'm giving the hallucinations too much attention and I shouldn't be.

I've talked some about my hallucinations and the things they've caused me to do and the way they made me feel. But I don't think I've hit on other complications of schizophrenia. The mind is a very powerful muscle and should be respected as such. The things we come up with, the way he problem solve, how we handle mental and emotional traumas....all starts with the mind. I know we think emotions = heart stuff. But your brain controls your moods. Keep that in mind the next time you aren't feeling up to par or are feeling fantastic. It's because you are either in bad or good mental space.

With that being said, I was like everyone else that attributed my emotional state to the matters of the heart (philosophically or spiritually). But when things started getting bad – I wondered what was in my heart that was causing all of the problems. I had no answer. Just the feelings and the thoughts to deal with. The thoughts alone are a chore. You receive so much advice on how to handle these things that we become weighed down by it all. Sometimes the simplest thing one can do is listen to the person talking. That's all.

My mother did this. The scariest thing I had to do was sit and listen to the things she said I was saying and doing. I remembered doing none of those things. I don't know why. It could have been the trauma I suffered or the medication I was on or the physical harm I caused myself around that time. I just didn't remember doing all of those horrific things she was telling me about.

The hallucinations, being so deep in them...it's like believing you are the character you are portraying if you are an actor. It's like your fantasy world coming in to being right before your eyes. Being caught up in a dream that feels like reality. Losing control of yourself, being lost and stuck in your own mind with no way out. It's all of those things when they get bad. You fight but that only seems to make it worse, so you give in to realize that, that wasn't the answer either. Being a prisoner to your mind is a scary thought. Everything around you warps into this world that your mind has created and you essentially have to function in it some kind of way.

You adapt. It's what you do. You're human.

Living the nightmare day in and day out and when the medications, the psychiatrists and the therapists are finally able to pull you out, you are no longer the same. It takes a toll on you, one that changes you. As if you had actually lived in that place and since the mind can make things feel and appear real to you – essentially you have lived there. You emerge this creature that doesn't trust the things and people around you. When everyone appeared to you as a monster and everything was meant to harm you, the only thing you can do is fend for yourself or give in. I refused to give in, so I was stuck fighting who and what I thought was meant to harm me.

There was an incident my mother sat me down and talk to me about an entire month after it happened. She had come to visit at the request of my husband (at the time) and said she witnessed me along with my husband...me trying to burn things in the house. Husband said I was trying to burn down the house, my mother said I was trying to burn various things. She said when she asked me why I was doing that, that I told her there were demons in those objects that needed to leave and that the fire would send them back to hell. When she told me this I asked for proof of having done such a thing and she walked me around my house and showed me where there were burn marks from the lighter that I had making a cross with the fire on the surfaces of these objects...mainly the front door.

I asked her why I didn't remember doing any of those things. She said it could have been due to the sedative that my husband gave me. It made me sleep for the whole day and well into the next. I don't remember taking that sedative. I knew it was one of the medications that had been prescribed to me after having had a nice week long stay at the local mental hospital. I had been home for two weeks when my behaviors returned. The medications that were supposed to help weren't really helping. Apparently. But she told me that the husband talked me into taking the sedative. She said that I was complaining of a headache and loud voices. That's when he acted. I don't remember being forced to take it or even being coerced into taking it. I don't remember anything about those two days other than my daughter not being at home. She was with her grandparents (his family) and away for the weekend. I was both upset and relieved. I didn't want her to see me like that and I wanted to protect her.

My mother talked to me at that time. She asked why I was doing things and what certain things meant. She asked me if I wanted to pray and said that we prayed for the house to be cleansed. She said we walked a perimeter around the house (after the sedative had been taken and was beginning to kick in) and prayed around the house and in every room of the house. She said I presented to her what I thought was holy water and we sprinkled it in every room and on the front door. She told me that she would do anything to get me to calm down and whatever put me at ease. She never felt that her life was in danger only that mine was in danger. Husband seemed to think opposite. He said he was concerned about being harmed by me. After I'd taken the sedative and slept for a day and a half – he felt better.

Note: Hubby weighed about 300 pounds at the time and weighed a little over 200. I couldn't even push him with all my weight on a good day or rock him on his feet. I tried it...but that's another story.

I wondered what kind of harm I could have brought to him that he wouldn't have been able to fight off. My thoughts at the time and still is that he should have had a stay in that place too. Just so he'd know what it was like. Instead of blaming me for having fallen ill. I think his eyes would have opened a lot more, but who's to say that they aren't. I can't report much from his end because he barely talked to me about what I was doing and how I was. I mean to sit him down one day and ask him what he thought about those moments and why he didn't make an effort to help me when I needed him to.

My mother told me that he wanted to act as if everything was okay so that I would be okay. You know, pretend like nothing happened so that we could get on with life. Did it help? No. I had to face the terrors of my mind every day – it was my mind not his. While he could go on and do what needed to be done I couldn't. While he could go on and live his life, I couldn't because I was stuck in a reality that I wanted no part of.

It was also around this time that the word divorce started coming up. Yes, I was the first to mention it. I felt alone and uncared for. I felt ignored and pushed to the side. No matter how crazy I was, I still had and have feelings. When we did talk about it – there was blame and accusation. He told me he didn't trust me but still wanted to be married. Where was love? I don't know. On my end it was there, so was fear, resentment and anger. Again, I can't report on his feelings about that time. But it did seem that he became his most talkative around the time of the divorce. He was like a canary dropping dimes on a wanted criminal then. But whenever I asked (and do still) why we ended and why he pressed on with the divorce...he puts it on me.

I guess should he ever get around to it, his tell all book with outline the very reason he's divorced. I'll be the one that made him a victim. He has that way about him. I was married for 10 years and could not divine our future, silly me. Ten years of marriage and I was supposed to be okay with the treatment I was receiving or not care that he was a...as he put it "an old dog set in his ways". Yeah. You know at first I was sad about the divorce because I wanted to stay – I still had love for him. But as time went on and goes by, I see the blessing in it. Things could be worse. I could be in a marriage with a man that wasn't sure if he loved his sick wife. He made that much clear. I wasn't supposed to get sick.

How could I help it? Especially if I was predisposed to it from the beginning, which I am sure that's the case. On my father's side of the family I have an aunt with the same condition. But for my father's sake – we'll pretend I don't know that or that he still doesn't have a daughter. Whatever makes him happy. There is so much at play with the individuals that suffer from mental illness. We don't know half of their stories and we barely scratch the surface with the knowledge of the illnesses that are present.

I've met so many people with multiple diagnoses that I'm beginning to think that it's normal. Maybe everyone suffers from a mental illness of some sort and they just don't know it, or are self-medicating with whatever makes them happy. I know that hubby has something akin to bi-polar but he won't admit it. Pretending does wonders for one's life. I don't want him to have it as a matter of fact, I think he should get help but if he doesn't see it, I shouldn't either. It's like when your dog covers his eyes or hides behind small objects to disappear from your sight when he's still there in plain view. It's only cute when the dogs do it.

I've had several blackouts before. They happened around the time my anemia was really bad and had to have a blood transfusion. But mental black outs – I can't only remember two. One that happened in the mental hospital, the nurses told me what I did ...I couldn't remember and the one that happened at home. Both were after having received a sedative. I'm very careful with them now. They are used sparingly or not at all.

To me, doing things in an altered state of mind and having no recollection of doing stuff is as scary as it gets. That is true horror. Having to wake up and be confronted with all that you've done because you weren't yourself. Sometimes mental illnesses are like that. You aren't yourself, you say and do things that you wouldn't normally do and have to deal with it when your mind is cleared of the fog it was in. I know alcoholics often experience the same thing with getting drunk and still trying to function as if nothing's wrong.

Maybe it's only scary to me. And to everyone else it's just something that happens "when you're like that". I don't know. I've never used my illness as a get out of jail free card. I don't go off doing horrible things and then blame it on the schizophrenia. What kind of human being would I be? I've never done that with anything. Why would I start now? I feel as though I have to own up to the messes I make even if they hurt me or other people. They are my mistakes, my problems and my consequences. I still kick myself about some of the things I've done and I know that it's giving in to guilt and that I should release it but...it's so hard. Being self-critical and overthinking things just comes with the territory.

Anyway...this is one of the scariest true things I've done in my life. Scary things aren't always based in fiction. Sometimes real life can be terrifying. Coping with this stuff is hard because it never leaves. It's always there and prominent, reminding you of its presence. I often wish to be free of it, to be "normal" and not have this thing looming over me and threatening to drag me under. But I guess it's like with anything else, you adapt. You cope, live with it and maintain as best you can.

On a side note: having thought about all of this has made me question something. Something I'm sure my therapist and psychiatrist have already caught on to. But...the moments that I have encountered God in my life...were they hallucinations too? I have never seen the face of God, not even in my dreams. But I feel as though I have encountered him, I've had experiences with him. Felt his touch, seen his movements in my life and have heard his voice. You know what I mean? I wonder if they think those are hallucinations. I wonder if every time I talk about God and the things he's done for me, if it make me look even more unstable because they are sizing me up against their own beliefs. Maybe I'm overthinking again, but it makes me wonder. About what they think and what is actually happening. Maybe God isn't interacting with me in that manner and it's the schizophrenia. Or maybe I just need to stop thinking.

I don't doubt God. I doubt me. I doubt my experiences and myself. This was some heavy writing for me and long. I didn't mean for it to get this long so I'll end here.

~Heavenly Father, you know all, see all and hear all. Please hear my prayer. There are those of us that need you, those of us who are calling out to you and are eager to take your hand. Extend your hand to ours that we may walk side by side with you. Rest your hand on our shoulders to guide us as we go in stride with you. Embrace us with your arms that we may know your healing over our lives. Not just for our ailments but for our spirits, our bodies and our minds. You are the healer we need and the love we want. Make your presence more prominent in our lives that we may encounter you wherever we go. In Jesus Name, Amen~

May your days be full of love, light and laughter. May these things heal you on your journey through this life and may all your burden and concerns fall away that you may live your life to the fullest. Bless you, each and every one of you.

And as always, thank you for reading. No really, this one was long! Thank You!